


The Doctor is In

by voodoomarie



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M, Modern Medicine, Multi, Profanity, Third-Person Omniscient, scots, time-travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2018-10-12 05:09:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10482804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voodoomarie/pseuds/voodoomarie
Summary: A day's hike in the Scottish highlands turns into a different kind of adventure





	1. The Smell of Peat and Feet

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to the many Jamie/OC pieces I've read. Will follow the book's plot for a bit, and then who knows....

The first sense that came back to her was scent. The strong earthiness of the peat, the damp of the river nearby, and the smell of an unwashed body. Which I hope is not me, she thought. Lifting her face off the ground made the muscles of her neck and shoulders scream, but she couldn’t stay on the ground. Opening her eyes, the unwashed body smell made sense. A red uniformed man lay beside her, his eyes glassy in death. After three years in the E.R., the sight of death didn’t frightened her as it should and she sighed in annoyance. I travel halfway around the world and I can’t get away from dead people. Harsh, as her mother had only passed two months ago, but being dirty and sore made her irritable.  
Why the hell am I in the dirt? And who the hell is this motherfucker? She grumbled as she turned over, away from the body, and sat up. Slowly wiping the damp earth from her face, she glanced around the valley she lay in. Now this is not where I was taking a walk. I was by those stones. The little stonehenge. She glanced around again, lingering on the body beside her. Might as well, she thought as she stripped the gun off him (old damn gun), a small, sharp blade, his belt and, the money purse on his belt. Okay, those coins are not in the rotation, she pondered, thinking of the pound notes she’d given to the barkeeper just last night. Ugh, I hope it was last night. I have a feeling it wasn’t. After stripping the body, she fluffed out the skirts of her dress, happy once again that she’d dressed for a long walk, with an underskirt and woolen leggings before glancing around again. After finding no immediate way out of the valley, she looked up, trying to measure the cliff face as a way of escape. Suddenly, a clash of metal was heard, as well as shouting. She pulled the knife out, keeping the gun tucked into the belt as she stepped into a defense position, worried the fighting would reach her. Instead, a body flew through the air, landing on top of the stripped one. Well that explains how he got here.  
She stepped away from the two bodies and towards the cliff face. If the fighting was coming from there, maybe she could---okay, she had no plan. This whole thing felt like a farce, a skit that Monty Python-like actors would pop out of to tell her she’d been punked. There is no way this is really happening. Away from the fighting, and the killing of red uniformed people. I’ll go away. Taking this as her guide, she stepped out from the outcropping and closer to the stream. It’s stream seemed mild, but she knew better than to cross or walk inside. So she followed it out of the valley, and far enough that there was no noise from the fighting. Or the fighting had ceased. Oh, that makes me feel worse. She found a section of stones large enough to cross over and took the path across, holding her skirts high to avoid the water. Lord love a waterproof hiking boot.  
She walked for hours, the sun slowly setting as she grew tired. She felt a new blister form on her right heel, haldy had a drink or a bite to eat in forever, and she was sure the cramping in her legs would only be stopped by amputation. At least it’s not raining. A huge thunderclap punctuated that thought, as the sky turned from a rosy orange to a dark gray and she felt the first sheet of rain. Maria Benedict, you are the world’s greatest idiot.  
Running in the rain is fun in movies, and when you’re six, but in a dark forest, complete with jagged rocks, marshy bits and trees helter skelter running was a bitch. She tripped more than she ran, and tried to remember what the best way to avoid lightning as she watched the sky light up behind her. As she turned quickly to glance behind her, she couldn’t avoid the invisible mass in front and ran into it. The stop knocked the breath out of her, and she would have fallen if two very strong arms hadn’t grabbed her and hauled her upright. The rain washed away the mass’s words as he hauled her closer to him and started walking.  
“What?!” She kicked out, trying to catch his knee but missed as he shoved her through an open door. Of course I missed the building directly in front of me! SHe landed hard on the dirt floor, her hands and knees scraping as she slid a little. Her annoyance was quickly forgotten as she looked around the tiny hut, lit partly by a roaring fire, and filled with a half dozen large, scary looking motherfuckers.  
In response, she did the only reasonable thing. She screamed bloody murder.


	2. Seek Medical Attention Immediately

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where our intrepid heroine is captured, fixes a dislocated shoulder, and for some reason reverts back in her native French.

The jolting action of hitting the floor should have tipped her off in the first place. So this wasn’t a very realistic fever dream. How unsettling. She took a deep breathe, and fought against screaming again. Screaming never led to anything good. The man she’d run into grabbed her arm and jerked her up off the floor. “Merde,” shot out of her as she stumbled to her feet.   
“Aye found ‘er runnin’ through da woods like a dunce.” The man shook her gripped arm and she winced. She took him in quickly. Though around her height (5’3), he was built solidly, and had a punishing grip. She tugged her arm experimentally but he shook her again and glared at her.   
“Je demande que tu me relâches.”   
“Aye?” In the center of the mass of men, a tall bald man straightened and moved towards them, the catcher and her. She didn’t tremble in genuine fear, not at all. The men behind the bald men all shuffled around, some moving close to the three of them, and another moving close to the fire, and what she believed was yet another man sitting down. How many were there? The bald man was now directly in front of her and the smell wafting off him was just awesome.   
“Was a lil’ chit like you doing out ‘ere?” The thick Scottish accent wasn’t a surprise, but that she understood it was.   
“Vous devez plaisanter,” she muttered without heat. Now I have a universal translator? This couldn’t come in Lithuania for that BnB? “ Je veux dire pas de mal. Je suis un visiteur. Lâchez-moi s'il vous plait.”   
Only confused expressions greeted her. The man still holding her turned her to face him a little. “Aye, you a French lassie then?”  
Her mouth opened in confusion. Had she just..? Oh, she was speaking French. I hope this was from the knock on the head. “Oui.”   
The bald man huffed and she swung her attention back to him, then behind him as he yelled out a name.   
“Thig rium Jamie.”   
Another man who’d moved close to the fire upon reshuffle called back to the bald guy. She ignored that, too annoyed to try to translate. Or try to translate. She might speak a few languages, but not Scots Gaelic. The man holding her released her suddenly, so she tried to bolt, but the bald man grabbed her and hauled her along with him as he moved close to the fire. 

She felt the press of the many men, their eyes on her as she moved in her long skirt. This wasn’t scary at all. Before she could process it, they were in front of the man who’d spoken.   
“Aye, the lad is too dipsy to move.” He told the bald man. Had the bald man asked something? Her focus could only be contained by the sitting man. He was huge, even sitting she guessed her was way over six feet, and about three feet across with bronzed shoulders and a mat of red hair on his chest. His curly red locks cascaded down in a gentle pool to just past his chin and his face. Wow! I know people who’d murder for that jawline. She couldn’t stop staring at him, and she wanted to, and someone was talking to her.  
“Aye, speak lass. The laddie ‘ere knows the French.”   
She glanced away from the redheaded vixen. Focus Marie. “Je marchais dans la forêt quand un homme en chemise rouge m'a abordé. nous nous sommes battus, je cours.” Leaving the details out like she woke up in the dirt, and the money was different, and there was that second guy that was thrown over the cliff. Unimportant details really.   
The redheaded giant nodded and his eyes met up with the bald man’s. “The lass was stopped by a red-coat. She fought him and ran.”   
“Tck, a tiny thin’ like this,” He shook her arm like the first man had and she bit back a growl. “Must be a fox to get away from a soldier.”  
“Aye, but a’ English soldier. How man are they really?” Another voice questioned from the crowd, and they all laughed. The amount of voices gave her pause. Too many people, too many men. Oh, how ominous.   
The redhead shifted beside her and she focused back on him. If I’m going to be murdered (and hopefully not other stuff) at least I can look at the pretty one before I meet my untimely death. “Votre épaule? Comment l'avez-vous blessé?”  
“Tombé du cheval, luv.”   
“Elle est disloquée. Je peux le réparer pour vous.” Redhead looked at her and held her gaze for a few moments before he inclined his head in what she believed was a nod. She turned to the bald man, but the redhead beat her to the punch. Better choice probably. It may have resulted in an actual punch.   
“The lass says she can fix me shoulder.”  
The bald man huffed, or chuffed, she wasn’t sure, but he didn’t sound very agreeable.   
“Imma not let you get handled by this lil’ thin’. Wheel snap you up good lad, then make our way back to Leoch.”   
The abandoned castle I took a five pound tour of three days ago? Oh, this cannot be good. Wait, snap him back in place?  
“L'épaule est délicate. Si vous le retirez, vous le paralyserez!” She was trying not to get too upset, but if she saw one of these men mutilate him like that, she’d, well she didn’t know what she’d do, but it wouldn’t be pleasant.   
“Tch Dougal, she would not be so kind if she meant to hurt me.”  
The bald headed man, who she now would name Dougal in her mind (since there were eight thousand people in this damn cottage), made another huffing, snorting sound before waving his arms around. “Yuv set your mind to it then! Let her beat you to death with it for all I care. But if she does, let it be known, eel string ‘er up from the tallest tree.”   
The redhead turned to her with a kind of smile, hoping to maybe calm her after the yelling, but the look of terror that graced her face must have spilled the beans. Guess we left our fight face at home.   
“D’accord, lass. Il ne veut pas dire de mal.” The redhead smiled and she fought to smile back. No harm indeed.   
“Vous devrez rester immobile. Je mettrai votre bras à sa place..” She waited for him to nod before moving closer to him. He called two men over, one of them the prick that tossed her into this mess, and they came and held him still. Okay, he has some good ideas. She nodded at the holders, then made eye contact with the red head before taking a hold of his elbow and wrist and tugging downward firmly. She waited for the telltale clunk, and ignored the gasps of pain from her patient and the choking sound from behind her. Ugh, amateurs.   
“La prochaine fois, ne tombe pas.”   
He laughed in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:   
> I demand you release me  
> You got to be kidding  
> I mean you no harm, I am a visitor. Please release me.   
>  Scots Gaelic “Thig rium” Come here  
> I was walking in the forest, When a man in a red shirt accosted me, We fought, I ran  
> Your shoulder, how did you hurt it?  
> Fell off the horse  
> Its dislocated, I can fix it for you  
> the shoulder is delicate. if you snap it back you will cripple him.   
> It’s okay, lass. He means no harm.   
> You will have to be still. I will put your arm back in its place.   
> Next time, don’t fall. 
> 
> I'd like to claim these are my translations, but really, Google did all the work.


	3. A Dirty Needle and a Twist of Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's not getting out of here any time soon.

She looked over the shoulder, touching it tenderly. It would swell, and their lodgings didn’t inspire confidence in getting an ice pack, so it would probably stay swollen for a while. The skin had ripped though, and that was something she could do something about. 

“J'ai besoin d'une aiguille. Et un chiffon propre.” Marie glanced at the redhead and waited for him to translate for Dougal. Dougal huffed again (that shit was getting annoying) and so she huffed right back and glared at him, before barking “Allons-y!”  
She was quickly handed a needle (dirty), a cloth (yellow), and a bladder of whiskey, which she grabbed before the redhead could take a sip and dumped a bit over the needle and a good slosh over the cut. His scream of pain made her laugh so several men hauled her away.  
“C'était dur. Pardonne-moi. Permettez-moi de réparer la blessure.” The redhead cursed and shoved one of the men away before waving her over. She wiggled away from the four hands gripping her and snorted in indignation before marching back to the redhead.  
She didn’t let a single snicker out as she quickly stitched the tear and cleaned the blood away. The work kept her hands from shaking, but her mind raced as she tried to pull herself together. Get away, I have to get away. She let her eyes flit around the room to count the men, most of whom kept too close. Shouldn’t have laughed at the scream. It was funny, but still.  
She tied off the last stitch and and let her hand rest on his shoulder for a moment, thinking hard. The redhead glanced up, meeting her eyes for the first time since she started. His eyes narrowed as if in question and she took her chance.  
“S'il vous plait, laissez-moi partir, Je--”  
“Aye, that’s enough of that lass.” Dougal pulled her away quickly and she bit back a swear. ‘Why did you have to revert to French? This is such a deep pit you have dug for yourself you moron’.  
She tried to pull away from the baldy, not noticing that the redhead had stood and come up behind her. She let out a gasp as she turned to face him, opening her mouth to speak again, before something solid hit her in the back of the head. 

 

Cocksucking motherfucking horseshit eating piece of shit. She’d been knocked out. The bald one had done it, she was sure. ‘I hope I’m sure, cause that’s the one I’m going to kill. Okay, I’m on a horse.’ She thought about that Old Spice commercial and again had to hold back a laugh. The warm body she was leaning against squeezed her lightly with its left arm and pulled her closer. ‘If this is baldy, he better pray for fucking mercy--’  
“Aright lass?” The redhead. His warm breath curled around her neck and she tried not to shiver. She whipped around to push him away and instead fell against him, her vision swimming as she tried not to vomit. ‘I do not have a concussion. If I have a concussion, that bald bastard was going to lose a body part.’’  
“Am I alright? Are you fucking serious? I am going to wipe the floor with that cocksucker.” She took several deep breaths through her nose as she tried to make her body relax so she wouldn’t spew, keeping her eyes closed to stop the dizziness.  
The arm tightened again and she was yanked back to a much tenser body. “You English girl?” He fairly growled, again, his breath making her squirm. ‘Forget he’s handsome. Forget the very nice body you are tucked into.’  
“What did you want me to do? Talk my way out of there? It was better you thought I couldn’t understand and would let me go.” She snarled quietly, keeping her eyes closed as they shifted on the horse.  
“How do I know you’re not a spy, lass?” He rumbled, relaxing his hold despite his words.  
She let out a snort before stopping. Oh god. There was absolutely no way to prove that she wasn’t a spy and wasn’t English. She was screwed.  
“Nothing to say lass? You done your begging?” His arrogant attitude and the swaying motion brought her mind back from its wandering. There were going somewhere, the castle maybe (probably) and were taking her with them. She didn’t know if this was good or bad.  
“Why am I being taken? Why didn’t you just kill me in that cabin?” She kept her voice low as she huddled in front of him. The blackness at the edge of her vision was clearing slightly, and though she knew she still had a concussion and it would return, she was able to scout her surroundings a lot better than before. The storm clouds had lifted slightly, lightening the sky, but night had fallen, along with the temperature. They were moving in twos, except for her and the redhead. So four in front and an unknown behind. She hadn’t gotten a proper head count in the cabin. But no one was close enough to eavesdrop so she asked in English.  
That arm squeezed her again, pulling her firmly against his front and out of her slouch. “Dougal wants to take you before the Laird. Saw how well you fixed me up, so thought you might provide as a medicine man.”  
It took a moment but she remembered how retched his arm had been and she tried to shift around on the horse. “Your arm! What are you doing riding?” She hissed, shifting to check his shoulder when his left hand gripped her right hip and forced her to remain forward. “Nothing to it lass. Bound up tight, no messing your pretty work.” That hot tickle of his breath, this time directly into her ear caused a full body shiver this time. ‘I should have had sex in the Netherlands. This would not be happening if I’d gotten laid any time in the last two years.I’ She squirmed, ignoring how very bumpy a horse could be as she slouched forward again to get away from him. She focused on what he told her instead of the warmth behind her.  
“I don’t give a shit what that bald--” bastard -- "man wants. I want what I want, which is to be let free.”  
He was quiet behind her, and she let him be. She didn’t think he’d really let her go, but she had to keep saying it. Maybe she could wear them down in her obnoxiousness. ‘Or maybe, you’ll get yourself killed. What fun awaits me.’  
He leaned close to rest his chin on her shoulder, turning to get a good look at her. His eyes were scrutinizing, but kind. “You look clean enough, and you sure put up a fight, but do ya have people lass? You have some place safe to go?”  
She stayed quiet. She didn’t have anyone in this time or hers. Death and illness had plagued her family for the last few years and she’d lost herself along the way. Her great adventure across Europe was close to an end when she'd reached Scotland and she still had no idea what her future plans were. Canada wasn’t home anymore, at least not for her, not without her family.  
Maybe this was destiny. Maybe it was the push she’d needed. Alright, so being flung back into the past was more than a push, in fact it was fairly similar to the flying act those two soldiers had taken, but perhaps this was it. A new start. In rural Scotland. In some century that did not include penicillin or tampons. ‘I am screwed. I am here, and I may not be literally screwed but I am fucking screwed.’  
“I have nothing,” she replied quietly. She leaned back, settling into the warmth of his chest as the truth of this whole disaster settled on her. She tilted her face to meet his eyes. They were so close she could count the freckles on his nose and the stubble on his cheeks. God, he was so very handsome, and so far kind as well. She hoped he could be her friend. “I’d have better chances at Leoch.” She waited for his reaction and when he nodded without a word, she turned back around. The only way right now was forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, Google translate is the real hero:  
> I need a needle. And a clean cloth.  
> That was rude. Forgive me. Let me fix the wound.  
> Please let me leave
> 
> My laptop croaked so was unable to post. I have chapter 4 started, and will post when satisfied. I hate to say this, but kudos if you like and let me know what you think in the comments.


	4. the Oath is Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, marshmallows!

They’d been travelling for hours. The storm clouds coloured the world a dingy gray, so she had no idea if they were close to dawn or dusk. Just that it was cold and dark. The rain was never ending and saturated her clothes, her hair, her very skin felt waterlogged and sticky with the damp, the dirt and her sweat. ‘I might as well be camping. At least there were marshmallows then. Oh, marshmallows.’ The last several hours since they had reached agreement was spent in silence and she slowly went over all the things they wouldn’t have in the-fuck-knows-what time she was in. Toothpaste, microwaves, nail polish. ‘This new opportunity thing was looking rather grim.’  


The warmth of the wool the redhead had wrapped around them was nice though. The quality of the weave made her mind work to recall the tour of the tartan factory she’d taken in Edinburgh. God it had been so boring, but it was so damn important now.  


It was in the silence of the rain that one of the horses startled and the entire train stopped. Each horseman looked around and the giant behind her pulled a small dagger out with his good hand and pressed it into her hand. ‘I’m fairly certain this was my--technically the dead dude’s-- knife. Thief.’ There was only the rain for several moments as she gripped the knife, then all hell broke loose. Several men came out of the underbrush, more from the trees and suddenly she was flying.  
The redhead yelled to hide, so she turned and booked it, finding small break in the mountain and slid inside. She held the knife like a sword, the point faced away and thought of the many self defense classes she had taken. Her mind was blank. Only her medical training remained. ‘You know major arteries, tendons to cut, organs that will bleed out in minutes. You can do this.’ It was a little unsettling how willing she was to fight to the death. ‘Guess that Hippocratic oath doesn’t stand the test of time.’ She let out a little laugh for her joke, and in a moment all light was gone as a big fellow glanced into the crevice. He smiled, a disgusting display of yellow and black teeth and reached a grimy hand towards her as he tried to shift inside. She jumped back, but the crack was only so big, and she felt the tips of his fingers graze her breast. This seemed to delight him as he groped and shoved harder in order to reach her. His foul language made her heart pound as she paused to think. This was not going to end well.  


She took a deep breath and lept towards him, digging the blade into his stomach and pulling to the left, hopefully hitting the liver so he would bleed out. He let go of the rock in surprise and she shoved him out of the crack, feeling him go limp in shock. She raised her boot and kicked hard at the wound, breaking him free of the stone to fall to the ground. He let out a wet sounding yelp and she smiled. ‘Do no harm indeed.’  
She gripped the knife tightly, its handle slick in her grip as she crept back into the crevice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it's short. I'll try harder next time. Oh, and thank you for the comments so far. I'm not great at responding, but please know that every comment, and every kudos does fuel me to write. Whether I think that writing is good enough is another story.....


End file.
